


Chant for Happiness

by leporidae



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Flirting, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: Two unlikely friends, both dreading their future.Perhaps it will be easier to face together, discovering the beauty of the world (and each other) along the way.
Relationships: Ignatz Victor/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of my slowly cooking rarepair brainchild born from that one confession box note of Ignatz's when he asks who'd appreciate fine art and the answer is Sylvain. Intsys, where's my Ignatz/Sylvain support where they bond over art? Just kidding, it's here now. I'm writing it. It's a ship now. Have to do everything myself I guess!
> 
> In regards to timeline and premise, this is set post-Golden Deer but in an idealistic canon divergent AU where Claude and Dimitri allied to take down Edelgard (and Claude and co. subsequently took out Those Who Slither in the Dark). Claude is the King of Almyra, Dimitri is alive as the King of Faerghus, and Lorenz still politically negotiates for the Alliance. Garreg Mach remains their meeting point for mutual negotiations. It's not the focus of the rest of the fic, but I'm sure I'll probably make references to it along the way, so that's where everything stands.
> 
> Will add more cameos later (mostly Golden Deer).

After over five years of conflict, returning to the monastery now in times of peace is almost surreal.

The cathedral has been mostly reconstructed since the end of the war, though Sylvain privately thinks the renovations lack some of its former architecture's charm. He’s not sure why his feet have taken him here other than out of sheer idle boredom; Sylvain had never considered himself particularly religious, and he’s seen too much and grown too cynical to suddenly embrace piety now. Regardless of the strength of his faith in the Goddess, there’s a certain tranquility to be found in this place. Perhaps it's the high ceilings and vast expanse of pews that makes one feel small and in turn a bit solemn.

Sylvain’s steps echo through the mostly empty room as he walks through the isle, only stopping when a second sound like soft scratching comes to his attention. His eyes scan the benches until he sees Ignatz Victor of the former Golden Deer class hunched over in the very front row, scribbling something into a notebook — _ah, probably drawing,_ now that Sylvain thinks of it. The man’s eyes continuously dart between the altar of the cathedral and his paper, back and forth in rapid succession as his pencil moves as though possessed. 

During their tenure at school together, Ignatz had always seemed so pitifully waifish. Nowadays he’s filled out a little, though he’s still short and lacking any sort of commanding presence. If it wasn’t for the place being otherwise empty, Sylvain may have missed him completely. He’s so focused on his art that it’s as though he’s occupying a completely different plane of existence, and Sylvain gets the odd sense that he’s stumbled into Ignatz’s private world somehow.

Sylvain hadn’t talked to Ignatz much at the monastery before, but there is one incident that sticks out in his memories. Ignatz had approached him once with a painting he’d found at the marketplace, shyly confessing he’d wanted to share its beauty with someone who would appreciate it and that he’d heard from someone (most likely the Professor) that Sylvain would be a worthy candidate. Normally Sylvain would have laughed it off as a false rumor, but Ignatz’s sincerity had softened him at the time, and they had ended up having an interesting and quite serious discussion about art history.

Leaving him be would be the polite thing to do in this situation.

“Hey, Ignatz.”

The artist flinches mid-pencil stroke and turns to face Sylvain with an almost relieved smile. “Ah, hello, Sylvain. You really startled me just now — oh, but it’s not your fault. I get so absorbed in my work when I’m sketching.”

“I can see that,” Sylvain says. “Anything in particular?”

Ignatz shakes his head. “No, nothing I haven’t drawn before. But it feels… almost nostalgic, to be back here at the cathedral. I thought sketching some of the features I found familiar would be a nice way to commemorate our reunion.” 

“Well, if you really wanted to commemorate _ our _ reunion,” Sylvain teases, moving to stand in Ignatz’s line of sight and posing with his hands on his hips, “then you should put me in your sketches. You can title your newest piece, ‘Reunion of Two Great Appreciators of Art,’ and sell it when you’re super famous.”

Ignatz laughs, which surprises Sylvain. In the past Ignatz shied away from everyone regardless of how lighthearted their words were. But it’s been over five years since they were at school together, and they had both survived a terrible war. Of course things wouldn’t be exactly the same. “‘Two Great Appreciators of Art?’ So you still remember that conversation we had, huh?” Ignatz says. “I was just thinking about it too, actually. It was nice to be able to connect over that back then, especially with everything else going on. Ah — sorry. I hope I don’t sound too strange,” he adds apologetically, and — _ yeah, that’s more the tune of the Ignatz I remember. _

“Nah, you’re fine. I agree.” Sylvain shrugs. “It’s too bad we couldn’t talk art more back then. Before we had to, you know, start killing people.”

“Y-yeah,” Ignatz says softly. “Well, there’s always, um — time for that now. Since we’re… not doing that.”

“That’s true. Though, speaking of art —” _ Stop, _ Sylvain’s brain chides him futilely. _ Don’t do it. You have the opportunity to catch up with an old acquaintance, and instead you choose to say _— “Why waste your time drawing the cathedral,” Sylvain murmurs, leaning in closer, “when there’s a real work of art right in front of you?” There’s no stopping the terrible line once it starts, barreling forward with the relentless energy of all his signature deplorable quips.

“H-huh?” Finally Ignatz glances up from the paper to look at him with wide eyes, the surprised effect exacerbated by the round lenses of his glasses. “Ah — sorry?”

It’s oddly charming how nervous he becomes, and so quickly too. “You heard me,” Sylvain says, bending down to speak directly into Ignatz’s ear. “It’s okay, you can look as much as you’d like. I’m sure the Goddess would forgive your transgressions just this once.”

“Y-you’re making fun of me,” Ignatz squeaks, flushed pink up to his ears. “I — I’m sorry, Sylvain. I’m — I’m not so good with this type of teasing, I —” His trembling fingers loosen around his pencil, which clatters to the floor, and he whimpers. “Forgive me — please, forgive me.” 

He drops the rest of his belongings — the sketchbook, the satchel he’d carried it in — and bolts from the room, leaving Sylvain staring after him, gaping; Ignatz’s absurd, unwarranted apology echoes through his mind as guilt writhes unpleasantly beneath the surface. Yes, of _course_ it was a joke, Sylvain reminds himself. Ignatz’s self confidence is so abysmal that ruffling his feathers a bit had been too tempting. And because it was a joke, there’s no reason to feel as though he’d just been punched in the gut.

But Sylvain is reeling.

_ Why do I feel so guilty? _

“Hey, you dropped your sketchbook,” Sylvain says absently, far after Ignatz has already fled, and the words echo through the empty hall.

* * *

Ignatz regrets running immediately after he flees the room, but turning back would be even more ridiculous, so he commits to the escape and heads to the library. Reading for a while might calm him down enough to approach Sylvain later and apologize for his strange behavior.

Sylvain had probably expected him to tease back, Ignatz thinks miserably in retrospect. Engaging in friendly banter is what normal sociable people are supposed to do, but he hadn’t known how to react when Sylvain had sidled up into his personal space. He knows the man was teasing, and that he does it a lot, but Ignatz honestly prefers talking to him without pretenses. Perhaps that makes him boring company. Does Sylvain think he’s boring? Ignatz wouldn’t blame him — wouldn't blame _anyone_ for thinking that, really.

When he steps inside the library, Ignatz spots Claude sitting at one of the desks, poring over an open book with an almost terrifying focus until he looks up. The intensity of his gaze melts away in an instant, and Claude waves. “Oh, Ignatz,” his former house leader says with a burgeoning grin that can’t mean anything good. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s the matter? Did the Goddess finally appear to you in a vision, and she was hideously ugly after all? My condolences, really.”

“Would you give that a rest? I don’t think about the Goddess every second of every day, thank you very much.” He scowls, for once too wound up to think about the harshness of his words.

Claude blinks slowly, and for a moment Ignatz worries he’s truly offended him. He’s about to apologize, but Claude speaks first. “Hey, I was just teasing. Is something the matter? You seem really on edge.”

“It’s nothing,” Ignatz says, ashamed he’d lost his composure. “I’m — I’m sure you have better things to do than talking to me about it. I should be on my way.”

“Now hold on,” Claude says, standing up in a flash and stepping in front of Ignatz as he tries to dodge away. “You’re a trusted friend and ally, Ignatz. I may rib you a little, but that doesn’t mean I don’t actually care. It doesn’t matter what my status is,” he adds as though reading Ignatz’s mind, just as he’d opened his mouth to protest that very disparity. “First and foremost, you and I will always be classmates. You got that?”

Claude is the King of Almyra, but even now it’s difficult for Ignatz to look at him and see royalty. His former classmate has a relaxed manner of speaking unlike any Fodlan noble he’d ever met — and a unique penchant for teasing that he’s begrudgingly grown accustomed to. But it’s because of Claude’s approachable attitude that Ignatz is forever grateful to have been part of the Golden Deer class at Garreg Mach. Claude treated his classmates as equals back then regardless of their upbringing and still does so even now; that makes him special not just as a noble, but as a person.

Ignatz sighs. “I appreciate it, but it’s really nothing. I just — I got a little flustered, that’s all.”

“Oh? Flustered?” Claude tilts his head, curious and almost feline in movement. “Who was the perp? Did Lysithea start chewing you out again? Or maybe it was Flayn? She has a pretty sharp tongue sometimes, believe it or not.”

“No, neither.” Thank the Goddess it hadn’t been Lysithea, actually. Even nowadays she always seems to find new weaknesses of his to hone in on and criticize. “I was just talking to Sylvain, and he kind of — um, embarrassed me. But it’s not a big deal. I think I overreacted, actually.”

That measured and thoughtful expression of Claude’s is impossible for Ignatz to decipher. “Sylvain, huh? He’s a slippery one, that’s for sure. A bit lascivious for my tastes, but hey — to each his own. Do you need someone to tell him off for you? I’d ask Ingrid if I were you, she’s adequately terrifying. Er — don’t tell her I said that.”

“No, no — he’s fine. He’s nice.” Ignatz doesn’t know why he feels the urge to defend Sylvain. “He’s, ah, actually into art. We’ve had some lovely conversations about it in the past. I just fluster easily, and he’s so lighthearted about everything, so — if anything, it’s really my fault and not his.”

“Ignatz,” Claude says, stern. “I’m being serious when I say this, but — I worry about you sometimes.”

_ Understandable, _Ignatz thinks miserably but doesn’t say. “Oh, there's no need. I’m working on it. The, uh — getting flustered. I’m much better than I was! I think.”

With a sigh Claude places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “No, not that. I’m worried about you because you blame yourself for everything. Okay, yeah — the getting flustered part is a problem too, I guess. Though admittedly a much more entertaining problem.” Ignatz can only manage a halfhearted glower in Claude’s direction, and as usual the man laughs it off. “But seriously, jokes aside, try not to be so hard on yourself, okay? If Sylvain bothers you, it’s okay to stand up for yourself. ...Also, please invite me to that confrontation if it happens. I’d pay real money to see _ you _ putting Sylvain in his place.”

“Claude, that’s not going to happen!” Ignatz ducks away from his touch. “I do… appreciate the concern, though. Especially when you probably have bigger things to worry about.”

Claude shakes his head. “Same as ever, Ignatz."

_Same as ever._ Yes, he truly is the same as ever. Always running away, never changing.

It's not comforting at all.

* * *

It’s probably an impolite breach of privacy to look through someone’s sketchbook without permission, but curiosity gets the best of Sylvain, and once the book falls open in his hands he can’t stop himself from leafing through. There’s sketches not only of the cathedral but of landscapes and alleyways, of animals and people, each drawn with both impressive technicality and charming personality.

In short, Ignatz’s drawings are incredible.

Sylvain had seen the cathedral plenty of times before, but Ignatz’s delicate pencil strokes make it look almost ethereal. Without even using color he’s created the illusion of light pouring in through the side windows and detailed the intricate patterns decorating the walls and floor. Growing up as a noble Sylvain has seen his fair share of royal portraits and intricate architecture, but nothing with nearly as much soul as Ignatz’s sketches. It’s honestly baffling — and a little incredible — how such an unassuming guy can produce art that’s so evocative. With his level of talent, Ignatz would be able to make even the bleak Gautier territory he’d grown up with seem beautiful and novel.

Sylvain frowns. Nothing like a recollection of his home and responsibilities to bring him forcefully back to an unpleasant reality. For Sylvain, this diplomatic meeting at the monastery marks his last feeble swan song of freedom before his parents force him to formally represent their family — and by family, they mean formally represent their Crest. He’ll return home to a lineup of pedigree women, breed with whichever one he finds least repulsive, and continue the cycle of nobility he hates with all his being. 

He should have taken the time to have an actual conversation with Ignatz rather than teasing him, he realizes. Who knows when he’d get the chance to discuss his actual interests with someone again?

With a sigh Sylvain gingerly closes the sketchbook and places it back in Ignatz’s satchel. He would have felt ridiculous immediately chasing after Ignatz like some desperate maiden in a romance novel, but now he’d waited too long to follow him and has no idea where the timid man had gone.

Fortunately luck does smile upon him now and then, this time in the form of a pink-haired woman rounding the corner at an opportune time. Upon spotting him she skips over with “Hello, Sylvain!” Hilda’s still got that fake-clueless expression eternally plastered to her face, and Sylvain snorts. “You’re looking good as ever.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m ravishingly handsome. And you’re still as much of a beauty as ever, Hilda.” This sort of mutually performative greeting has become their modus operandi, a silent challenge to the other to drop their insincere act — which of course neither ever does. “But alas, I can’t let your effervescence distract me this fine day. I’m on a mission.” A hand alights on his chest, mockingly apologetic. “Have you see Ignatz? He, uh, left his sketchbook in the cathedral, and I wanted to return it to him.”

Hilda’s sweet smile doesn’t falter, but for reasons he can’t explain Sylvain suddenly feels vaguely threatened. “Oh, Sylvain, you are just _ so _ selfless,” she croons. “Helping someone out without asking for a date in return? You’ve really grown up, I am so proud of you. Besides, what would you want from Ignatz anyway? He’s such a gentle soul, you know, and he never stands up for himself even now. It’s almost sad. Only someone absolutely _heartless_ would take advantage of a guy like that.”

“Hey, I just want to give the guy his sketchbook back!” Sylvain protests. “Yeesh, you sure are quick to assume the worst about me. I know my track record isn’t the greatest, but I’m not a villain.”

“Of course you’re not. I never said you were.” Hilda stretches her arms lazily above her head, another calculated motion of her helpless act on which Sylvain chooses not to comment. “Anyway, I think Ignatz is in the library? Maybe? I saw him heading that way a while ago. But I’m not actually sure. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” Shifting back and forth in the soles of her feet, she once again flashes that pretty smile. 

“That’s a good start,” Sylvain says. “Thanks, Hilda.”

He can feel those judgmental eyes boring into his back as he leaves, an intense gaze incongruous with Hilda’s lazy stretching and languid words. Knowing how fiercely Hilda would protect Ignatz would almost be heartwarming if it wasn’t so terrifying — or directed at him.

Well, there’s no danger here, so Hilda has nothing to worry about. He’ll just pop in, return the sketchbook, and be on his merry way to… the rest of his life.

Whatever that entails.

* * *

“Ignatz? You in here?”

Ignatz, crouched over a desk, jolts upright and snaps shut the book he’d been skimming, a fascinating geographical account of the northern territories of Fodlan. “Oh — y-yeah,” he stammers, recognizing the voice as that all too familiar wave of shame washes over him. “Hi. Um. Sylvain — h-hi.” It doesn’t escape his memory that he’d fled the scene like a skittish rabbit during their last encounter.

“Hi,” Sylvain repeats bemusedly, pulling up a chair to sit beside him. “Glad I found you.” He places Ignatz’s satchel on the desk and slides it over. “You, uh, left your stuff in the cathedral. Figured you wouldn’t wanna lose it.”

“I’m so sorry I ran off like that,” Ignatz says, taking back his belongings with a wince. “Sometimes I just don’t know what to say to people. It’s pathetic, I know, but — I just panicked and ran off without thinking. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

Sylvain waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, it takes more than that to get to me. And your reaction was understandable. It’s not every day you’re faced with this much sheer, unadulterated charm, after all.”

This time Ignatz stands his ground. “Sylvain, I’d really prefer if you just talked to me normally. I don’t know how to respond to stuff like that.”

“Oh — okay.” Sylvain seems a bit taken aback. “Sorry, it’s just habit.” A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck, and for a fleeting moment even Sylvain of all people looks nervous. “I flipped through your sketchbook, by the way. Sorry about the invasion of your privacy, I was just taken over by curiosity.”

“Th-that’s okay,” Ignatz manages even as his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Um — they’re just sketches, though. Nothing special.”

“No, they are,” Sylvain insists. “When I look at your art, I feel like I can see you there creating it. Your admiration for what you’re drawing radiates off the page. You’re detailed, but it’s not stiff like you’ve overworked it. The strokes are light and relaxed, and even though I’ve seen the cathedral before, I feel happier looking at your art than at the actual building. There’s a certain degree of... hopefulness to it, even.”

Ignatz’s face may very well catch fire if Sylvain goes on another moment. “I, uh, wow. Gosh. Um. I don’t know what to say to all that. I haven’t even had formal training, so I’m sure there’s technical stuff I could be doing much better. But, ah — thank you, though.” A wave of panic swells inside him that he forces himself to swallow down. He wants to continue denying Sylvain’s words, to insist _ no, I’m not actually any good, please stop deluding yourself. _ Time and time again his classmates had told him to stop saying such things, that he’s truly talented, and while Ignatz doesn’t fully believe them, he doesn’t wish to disrespect them by insisting they’re wrong. The same is true for Sylvain’s praise, though it makes him equally uncomfortable. “If my drawings make someone else feel a little happier, then I guess they're worth it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sylvain says. “Er, sort of. You okay over there? It was just a compliment. Please don’t like, explode or something.” Ignatz can’t bring himself to look up from the table, warmth flushing his cheeks, and mercifully Sylvain swerves the conversation. “Anyway, what are you planning to do now that the war is over? I assume you’re going to focus on your art now that you have the time. You definitely have at least one fan already. I'm talking about me, of course.”

Ah yes. _ That _ question. The one that never fails to fill him with dread. “Actually, my parents are still hoping I’ll work as a knight,” Ignatz says with a halfhearted smile, even as that all too familiar cloud of misery begins to settle over his heart. “Um, so I guess I’ll do that. I want to support them, after all — that was my promise when I joined the Officers Academy.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, and Ignatz shrinks a bit under his skeptical gaze. “I can’t imagine you enjoying all that formal chivalry stuff. You’re too much of a softie. Wouldn’t that make you miserable? And besides, don’t you want to paint?"

The word _ want _ alone is enough to make him squirm. What Ignatz _ wanted, _ well — that had never been a factor in how he lived his life. He was the second-born son of a merchant family who needed both sons supporting them in order to survive, and there had never been space in that preordained destiny for _ wanting. _ “W-well, ah — Lorenz told me if I worked as his knight, he’d let me paint on the side. And since I know him, it wouldn’t be quite as terrifying. Right now that seems like the best option, so perhaps I’ll take him up on that.”

Sylvain stares at him, open-mouthed. “Seriously? You’d willingly subject yourself to _ Lorenz _for the rest of your life? You’ll be forced to paint nothing but his fancy noble portrait, day after day. Is that really how you want to waste your artistic talent?”

Ignatz laughs weakly. “He’s not _ quite _ that bad, Sylvain. And he is my friend, you know.”

“Your standards must be pretty low if you’re willing to defend that frilly pain in the ass,” Sylvain says with a scoff. Before Ignatz can jump to his (admittedly frilly) friend’s defense, Sylvain presses on. “How about you about this for a moment: say you hypothetically had no responsibilities and no obligations, what would you choose to do? Right now.” When Ignatz casts his eyes nervously to the ground, Sylvain adds, “Surely something comes to mind?”

Ignatz sighs. “All right, I admit I have an idea. But it’s — it’s stupid, and totally unrealistic.”

“Give me your worst.”

“I want to see the world,” Ignatz blurts. “Everything. I want to visit every landscape and see every unique color. I want to sketch the architecture and flora and fauna and people of as many places as I can, and — and find some way to share it with others. To bring people happiness through art and aesthetics instead of fighting. I’m sorry, that must sound so idealistic and childish.”

“No,” Sylvain says after a thoughtful pause. “It sounds wonderful. Really, I mean it.”

“You’re just humoring me,” Ignatz says glumly.

Again Sylvain shakes his head. “No, I’m not. I think you should do it.”

“S-sorry?”

“Travel. See the world. I think you should do it.” Ignatz looks up, expecting to see a sardonic smile stretched across Sylvain’s lips. Instead, he’s met with a shockingly serious expression from the usually frivolous man. “What’s stopping you, really?”

“Well, my family.”

“Are they really though?” Sylvain tips his head to one side. “If you left the monastery right now and went off to travel for a while, would they even know about it?” 

In that moment Sylvain seems a bit how Ignatz may picture a temptress, all sweet smiles and silky words, dangling the promise of a better life in front of his nose — though perhaps he’d picture someone like that a bit less tall. And less muscular. Ignatz swallows. “Um.”

“What’s the harm? Think of all the architecture you could see traveling to other regions, all the museums you could visit. Again, it’d be way more interesting than painting whatever stuffy scenes _ Lorenz _tells you to.”

Would that really be possible? Just taking off on the road and going wherever the winds of his desire carried him? “Maybe if I didn’t go alone… or if you came with me,” Ignatz blurts — and he's immediately horrified by his own proposition. “No, oh — I mean, someone, if _ someone _ came with me. I’m sorry, that was out of line, I just — I meant I could see you going to the museums, because I know you’re interested in art, and since you brought it up. It doesn’t have to be _ with _me. In fact, it may actually be more enjoyable on your own — ”

“No, no, wait.” Sylvain holds up a hand to stop him, but rather than scoffing at the words, he actually looks thoughtful. “I know you weren’t being serious, but that actually doesn’t sound too bad. I mean, it would be fun, right? Hitting up museums, and taking all that free time for ourselves, with no one telling us where we can and can’t go.”

“Wait, really?” Ignatz blinks. “You want to — travel for a while? With me?” It certainly would be safer than going off on his own, and it would prevent him from immediately committing to Lorenz’s proposal (which fills him with a creeping sense of dread, as much as he cares for the man). Plus Sylvain is a noble too, so if his parents ask why they’re traveling together, Ignatz can just tell them that it’s a part of his training. He had never considered truly defying his family before, but it suddenly seems possible with someone as confident as Sylvain by his side. “And your family would be okay with that?”

“Doubt it,” Sylvain says, “but can they really stop me? I guess they’ll have to deal with it.”

_ He’s sure brave, _ Ignatz muses. “You talk like it’s really possible…”

“Ignatz. It’s possible.” Sylvain claps a hand on his shoulder, a bit too forceful. “You’d be wasting your talent as a knight. I mean it. Don’t you want to see the world? You just said that, right?”

“Uh, yes, but —”

“I’d love to talk art with you on the road,” Sylvain continues cheerfully. “Tell you what. Give me a week, and if you’re that uncomfortable with the whole thing then you can go off and, uh, work for Lorenz.” His nose scrunches with distaste. “Just think of it as a vacation. We both deserve that, right?”

“Sure,” Ignatz says, a little mystified by this exchange. How had his confession of yearning for adventure led to this? Did Sylvain really want to accompany him on some parent-defying artsy road trip? Surely someone of his status has better things to do and more important people to speak with. “Right, um, that’s fine.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sylvain says matter-of-factly, giving Ignatz’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting go. “This is going to be fun. I hope you get inspired by all sorts of things. I am a fan of your work, you know. And who knows —” He smirks. “Maybe you’ll be inspired by my pretty face too. Don’t count me out just yet.”

With a wink Sylvain leaves the stunned Ignatz in silence.

_ It's settled? _

_ ...What's settled, exactly? _

As Ignatz watches Sylvain’s broad back recede from the library, he wonders what exactly it is he had just agreed to.


	2. Chapter 2

“Excuse me, did I just hear you properly? You, traveling the world? With _ Sylvain Jose Gautier? _ When you could be enriching yourself with me, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester?”

It’s a wonder Lorenz’s face isn’t turning the color of his hair as he wastes his breath articulating each name. He sounds almost hysterical, and Ignatz shrinks back from the force of his disbelief. Of course he had expected Lorenz to dramatically protest when he articulated his plans, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. “Well, ah, yes. Just — just for a while. While I... figure things out. He offered, and… it sounded kind of nice,” he finishes lamely.

Lorenz’s features are thin and elegant, each stark angle somehow enhancing the intensity of his current displeasure. “I have never heard _ anything _ more ridiculous in all my years,” he says looming over Ignatz, a bending tree branch about to snap. “What exactly do you hope to _ figure out _ traveling with that man? As a noble he is an exemplary specimen of bad behavior. He will lead you straight to delinquency.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a little,” Ignatz says weakly. “Sylvain is just, um, colorful.” _ As are you, and yet here we are. _ “This will be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other, since we didn’t have much chance during our school days.”

Lorenz scoffs. “Get to know him? I’m surprised you aren’t deterred by his reputation alone. Any traveling with him will surely devolve into a base display of cross-country philandering. Unless you mean to tell me you are suddenly interested in doing the same?”

“What? Of course not!” Quite bold for _Lorenz_ of all people to imply that Ignatz would be interested in merciless flirting. Lorenz possesses a lot of positive qualities, but self awareness rarely makes the list. “Listen, I — I’m really flattered about your offer, of being your knight. Of course I am, you’re my friend. I’m just — I’m not sure I can take on that responsibility right now.”

Ignatz doesn’t like the way Lorenz is peering judgmentally at him. “So rather than face responsibility, you’d rather run away from it with Sylvain? I suppose I can’t stop you, but I will warn you: that man _ will _ strip you of your integrity and sully your reputation. Are you sure you have the conviction to handle that?”

“I think he’s less bad than people say,” Ignatz says carefully, “but also, um — I don’t think I would change that easily. And I don’t have much reputation to speak of, anyway.”

“Now that’s no way to speak of yourself,” Lorenz chides. “Have I not told you that your aesthetic eye is unmatched? Does my esteemed endorsement mean nothing to you?”

“No, no — I mean, of course it does. It’s not you, it’s — it’s me.” _ It’s not you, it’s me? _ What is this, an awkward breakup? “Listen, I — I just need some time to think. And after, if — _ when _ I take you up on your offer,” Ignatz hurriedly amends as soon as Lorenz opens his mouth to chide him, “I’ll be more at peace. And braver! Hopefully. A braver, better knight.”

Lorenz doesn’t seem convinced, most likely because Ignatz is also not convinced. “I suppose I can’t stop you. Regretfully. But since I am certain that any time spent in Sylvain’s company will open your eyes to my irrefutable superiority, I will be awaiting your change of decision with open arms.”

“Oh, um. That’s very gracious of you.” When it comes to Lorenz — and more specifically, avoiding agonizingly-long conversations with Lorenz — sometimes the best strategy is to just agree and let it go. “No, really. Thank you for looking out for me, Lorenz. I’ll be sure to keep in touch.”

Lorenz _ tsks _ loudly, the caricature of a woefully disappointed mother. “No good will come of associating with that man. I can guarantee it.”

_ Great. Thanks for supporting my life choices, Lorenz. _

Of course, such a sentiment is too sarcastic for someone like Ignatz to ever dare utter.

So he holds his tongue.

* * *

Sylvain Jose Gautier, the man who runs away from life at every turn with a blithe grin on his face all the while, suddenly finds himself running_ towards _ something instead.

The proposal to travel had spilled from unfiltered lips before he had given himself any chance to consider its implications, but once he voiced the idea it had become something tangible. Something absurd, something unpredictable, something he could do to defy everyone’s expectations. He barely knows Ignatz, and that makes it more comfortable somehow; the fledgling artist doesn’t know every twist and turn of his sordid history or the name of every unsuspecting dame that has become entangled in his web of charms. A little backpacking adventure with a friendly acquaintance should be fun.

And avoidant, sure — but fun nonetheless.

Sylvain leans on the back wall of the room as Ignatz gathers his meager belongings, a handful of clothes and an assortment of art supplies. “I still can’t believe you actually agreed to this,” he says cheerfully. “You must be either really bored or really desperate. Fortunately, I too am both those things, so we’ll make a good pair, eh?”

Ignatz looks up from packing. “Desperate? I was under the impression you wanted — ah, no, that’s fine. I hope I’m not too boring, then.”

There it is again: that horrible, nagging, _ unfamiliar _ guilt, gnawing away at Sylvain like a famished beast. He swallows. “Hey, I was only joking. I know you’ll be nice company — _ I’m _ the one you should worry about.”

“Yes, many people have warned me,” Ignatz says, and to Sylvain’s relief he’s smiling a little. “Are you really as devious as they say? My friends seem to think I’m rather gullible for following you on this journey.”

“Devious? Well — I can be, sure.” Sylvain winks. “Does that upset you?”

Ignatz shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think you’d have any reason to be that way with me. After all, I’m not a woman.”

He has to laugh at that one. It’s such a simple conclusion, but one without pretenses. Kind of refreshing, actually. “So even you are aware of my reputation, hmm? I’m almost flattered. Feeling pretty famous right about now.”

“Huh? What do you mean, 'even me?' I pay attention.” Ignatz frowns. 

“To me? Now I’m _ definitely _ flattered.”

“Sylvain, you don’t have to — to speak like that.”

It makes him freeze just as he’s about to rattle off another wisecrack. “Sorry?”

“All… that.” Ignatz waves his hands around vaguely. “That stuff you’re saying. Oh, never mind. Sorry, it doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

Ignatz reminds him of a nervous pill bug that curls up when you poke it. “Hey, you can’t just say that and clam up on me.” Maybe if he pokes Ignatz enough he’ll uncurl himself. Gradually. “Did I say something wrong? C’mon, you can tell me. I don’t get offended too easily.”

He swallows, adjusting his glasses to stall. “It’s nothing. Really, I —”

“Sylvain, are you harassing him?”

Standing at the doorway is a scowling Leonie, one hand on her hip as her gaze locks on Sylvain like a predator eyeing a slab of meat (quite delicious looking meat, if Sylvain does say so himself). “Me? Harassing anyone, much less gentle, innocent Ignatz? Surely you jest.” Playfully he takes Ignatz’s cheek between finger and thumb and gives the man’s face a squeeze; Ignatz whimpers and swats him away, glaring unconvincingly behind his round glasses. “We’re having the time of our lives together. C’mon, tell her, Ignatz.”

“Um —”

Leonie clears her throat. “Lorenz told me you’re coercing Ignatz to travel with you,” she says, gaze still trained on Sylvain like a hawk. “I won’t let you kidnap him without consequences, Sylvain.”

“Ah, Leonie, as sharp-tongued as ever. Your concern for your friends just adds to your already unmatched radiance. Like a sunflower, remember?” Sylvain reaches out to take her hand, but Leonie smacks him away. “Alas, I have been spurned.” 

“This guy? Really?” She turns to Ignatz then, ignoring Sylvain entirely. “Where are you two going? He better not be getting you into any trouble.”

“No, nothing like that, Ignatz assures her. “I, um, Sylvain was just going to escort me home from here, and after —”

“After?” Leonie narrows her eyes.

“After, we're going to travel,” Ignatz squeaks out. “Just some, um. Some sightseeing. No trouble at all. Nothing worth worrying about.”

Sylvain watches Leonie to gauge her reaction, and as expected, she's not very pleased. She and Sylvain had never quite clicked; Leonie is rather unreceptive to his flirting, and their sensibilities couldn’t be more different. “Telling me not to worry is just making me even more worried, Ignatz. And what’s with the suspiciously vague response? Sylvain, you’re not planning to drag him into one of your classless escapades, are you?”

“She’s right to worry, you know,” Sylvain says, slinging an arm around Ignatz’s shoulders and shaking him lightly. “You heard the woman. I'm_ classless. _ Beautiful, sure, but _ woefully _ dense. And a troublemaker to boot. Wouldn’t wanna be stuck with me.”

Leonie glares at him, but Ignatz doesn’t say a word, instead picking up his sketchbook and leafing through with a furrowed brow. The lack of response makes Sylvain oddly wary — it’s so much easier to respond to people actively telling him off than to suffer in silence — and then Ignatz clears his throat. “Sylvain, can you look at this for a moment?” He holds up an open page.

“Huh?” Sylvain says, mystified. “Uh, sure?”

There are two side-by-side sketches of the same flower on the paper. “I went with a different approach on these,” Ignatz says. “Do you have an opinion? A preference?”

He squints, not sure where Ignatz is going with this but willing to humor him nonetheless. “The one on the right is a little sharper, isn’t it? I think it depends on the lighting. The softer approach of the left one would work better as part of a bigger composition maybe, or with color — maybe watercolors. Whereas the right one I think looks better as it is now as just a sketch. There’s more definition on the details so it’s a bit more striking.”

“Thanks.” Ignatz snaps the book shut with a soft smile Sylvain doesn’t quite trust, and Ignatz’s next words just confirm his suspicions. “See, Leonie? He’s not dense at all. Sylvain’s got a really good eye. He’s just being modest.”

_ Did he just… trick me into responding like that?_

“I didn’t know you were secretly artistic, Sylvain.” Leonie’s looking at him like she still doesn’t quite believe what she’d heard.

“I’m —”_ I’m supposed to be stupid, so please go back to seeing me that way _— “a man of many hidden talents, Leonie. Now if you would please be a dear and stop harassing poor Ignatz, we have plans to make.”

“Me? _ Me, _harassing him? Ignatz —” Leonie swivels to Ignatz, who has started to shrink down in a cower. “I can’t believe this. Come on, artistic or not, you can still change your mind about this idiot.”

“Um,” Ignatz says softly, and for one terrible, jarring moment, Sylvain thinks he’s about to agree with her. (_Maybe you're right, Leonie. Maybe I shouldn't go with him after all —)_ “Um, may I have a moment to speak with Sylvain? In private, if — if that’s okay.” 

Sylvain releases a sigh.

“Suit yourself,” Leonie says flatly. Sylvain is surprised she agrees so readily, but he supposes it’s difficult to say no to such an earnest request from Ignatz, a man who rarely even musters up the courage to make them. She shoots a warning look in Sylvain’s direction on the way out, which he easily ignores.

“Were you really planning on going home?” Sylvain asks once Leonie has shut the door behind her. “Or did you just say that so she’d lay off?”

“Ah, well —” Ignatz looks sheepish. “If possible, I do actually want to stop by briefly and visit Raphael. I was hoping to see him here, but he wasn't able to make it. I’d like to see how Maya is doing as well. It’s been a while since we’ve talked face-to-face.”

“Maya?” Sylvain smirks. “Who’s that, your girlfriend?”

“H-huh? No, she’s —” Ignatz blushes indignantly. “Raphael’s younger sister. We all grew up together, so — stop laughing, she’s my _ friend, _ Sylvain.”

Grinning, he claps one hand on Ignatz’s shoulder. “Whatever you say. But that’s sure a lot of denial. Didn’t know you were secretly getting action.”

Ignatz purses his lips. “If you keep speaking like that around Leonie, she’ll beat you up.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. I was just riling her up. She makes it too easy.” A shrug. “But she’s right, you know. You don’t _ have _ to go anywhere with me. Don’t just agree because you think I’ll feel bad if you don’t.”

“Oh, that’s not it at all,” Ignatz says quickly. “I’m really looking forward to traveling with you, Sylvain. I’m sorry that I didn’t defend you better to Leonie. I’m not very good at stepping in when it comes to those sorts of situations…”

“Defend me? Nah, I don’t need that. And she’s your friend too, right? No need to get into the middle of an argument that’s not your problem.” 

_ I’m really looking forward to traveling with you, Sylvain. _ The words echo in his mind, nursing a spot of self doubt he hadn’t even been aware was spreading. He looks at Ignatz, searches for any insincerity, any indication that he’s being kind just to placate him, but — it’s Ignatz, so of _ course _ he doesn’t find it.

In a twisted way, he’s actually a bit disappointed he hadn’t discovered a hidden falsity in Ignatz’s words.

After all, sometimes it’s easier to not know where you stand.

* * *

Ignatz has always gotten along well with Leonie. She’s down-to-earth, blunt but not harsh, and speaks without pretense or illusion. For someone like Ignatz who has a hard time reading the intentions of others, her presence is rather refreshing.

They don’t always see eye-to-eye when it comes to matters of the nobility, though. Leonie is first and foremost practical, and though she supports Ignatz in his endeavors to explore art, she places less value on aesthetic sense, more likely to turn up her nose at pointless frills. Conversely Ignatz can’t help but be fascinated by extravagant art, regardless of the exorbitance of the royal who had created it (or hired an equally exorbitant court painter to create it). Privately he thinks sometimes Leonie is a bit unfairly judgmental about such frivolous pursuits, but of course he’d never say it directly. Leonie has every right to cling steadfast to her own perspectives. And Ignatz sees the merit in them, even if he disagrees.

She approaches him again one last time before he leaves Garreg Mach, right after he finishes packing and saying his polite goodbyes to the rest of his former classmates. Sylvain has drifted into the throng of Officers Academy alumni and appears to be discussing something with Lorenz that is making him flush very indignantly, but Ignatz is too far away to hear what they’re talking about and isn’t sure he even wants to.

“Ignatz,” Leonie hisses, and he jumps, tearing his eyes away from the scene. “I know you’re leaving pretty soon, and — okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can tell me anything, you know that, right? I have to ask: is Sylvain… holding something over you?”

Ignatz blinks, reaching up to adjust the bridge of his glasses nervously. “I’m not really sure what you mean by that,” he confesses. 

“Do you owe him something?” Leonie insists. “You don’t have to go with him if you’re uncomfortable, you know. Say the word and I’ll help you give him the split.”

“H-huh?” He has no idea what she’s talking about, but he’s starting to feel stressed. “No, he — he likes art. I chose to go with him. _...Do _ I owe him something?” A swell of panic bubbles up suddenly. “Did he say something to you? Did I — did I miss something important?”

Her expression softens, and before he knows what’s going on Leonie has pulled him into a quick hug. Baffled, Ignatz pats her back once before she lets go. “Oh, Ignatz… I didn’t mean to worry you. Sylvain hasn’t said anything to me, I promise. It’s just, you’re a really good guy, Ignatz. You’re honest and kind. And Sylvain’s just… Sylvain.” Leonie sighs. “He’s an insincere flirt who gets on everyone’s nerves. I’m surprised you can even tolerate him.”

“He’s never been rude to me,” Ignatz admits. “Well — ah, I guess there was some teasing. But it wasn’t rude. We mostly just talked about art and travel and the like. And, um, the future. Stuff like that.”

“Huh.” Leonie taps a finger against her chin, mulling over his response. “Well, okay — if you’re sure. As your friend, I don’t want him to take advantage of your… kindness.”

“You mean take advantage of my spinelessness,” Ignatz mutters, holding up a hand when Leonie tries to protest. “It’s okay, Leonie. I know people think of me that way. I’ve given you all plenty of reasons to worry about me.”

“I’m sorry, Ignatz,” Leonie says, crestfallen. “I didn’t mean to imply you can’t take care of yourself. I guess I got a little overprotective. But honestly, I’d worry about _ anyone _ going off alone with Sylvain, so it’s not really a reflection on you.”

Ignatz shrugs. “I appreciate that you care about me enough to worry, but I think I’m fine. I know about Sylvain’s infamous, um — _ behavior _when it comes to women. It’s not like I approve of it, but… it’s not really my business, so I don’t need to get involved.”

“If you say so.” Leonie raises an eyebrow. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Don’t be afraid to reprimand him when he ticks you off. And there’s no way he won’t. It’s Sylvain, after all.”

Ignatz wonders what their history entails for Leonie to be so openly critical of Sylvain, but he decides not to ask. “Letting myself travel _ is _taking care of myself,” he says cautiously. “Don’t worry. I’ll, um, send you a letter if anything goes terribly awry?”

Leonie's hands settle on her hips as she faces him. “Just stay true to yourself like you always do, okay, Ignatz?”

_What does that even mean? Like I always do?_

“Right. Um. Of course.”

* * *

Walking alongside Ignatz is more comfortable than Sylvain ever would have imagined.

When they first head out, Sylvain feels the urge to fill the silence like he always does, with banal chatter and sweet smiles. His companion, ever the placid man, entertains him, but Sylvain quickly grows to realize that his typical tactics are making the air between them a bit tense. Ignatz senses his insincerity, and Sylvain senses that he’s too timid to point it out. 

So Sylvain changes his tune, instead making a concerted effort to soften up a bit. He shifts the topics from shallow tales of his female conquests to other memories: growing up in Faerghus, his time in the Blue Lions class, his on and off returns to Gautier territory during the five years of war — and Ignatz’s entire demeanor changes, enjoying even the most trivial of Sylvain’s tales. _ I’d love to hear you describe that place in more detail, _ Ignatz says more than once. _ You use such colorful words, Sylvain. It makes me want to visit all those places for myself. _

As though anyone in their right mind would willingly spend a prolonged amount of time in bleak Gautier territory.

(Sylvain doesn’t tell him that.)

Ignatz is constantly curious of the world around him. More than once he stops at an unusually shaped rock or hidden bloom of flowers to marvel at its beauty, and Sylvain lets him take out his sketchbook even as he apologizes for wasting their time. But the moment graphite hits paper Ignatz becomes a different person entirely, unshakably focused and utterly serious. Sometimes he suspects Ignatz has forgotten he’s there; he doesn’t respond at all when Sylvain twitches or coughs. Sylvain takes those moments to watch him draw, admiring the magical transformation of a few simple strokes to something concrete and tangible. And he watches Ignatz too, watches him squint and purse his lips and sigh. Ignatz usually doesn’t sketch for more than a few minutes at a time out of respect for their journey, but Sylvain is always a bit disappointed when he stops. It’s the kind of entrancing magic he could watch for hours.

Sylvain is also able to see his survival skills and surprising natural tenacity in action. Ignatz is an impressively good marksman, which Sylvain can appreciate without sharing a personal affinity for the bow. What he lacks in pure strength he makes up for in accuracy, and seeing that focus in his eyes makes Sylvain realize how he had survived all those years on the battlefield. 

...Of course, when they go to collect the spoils of the hunt, Ignatz reverts to his characteristically anxious self. Watching him apologize to a dead bird he’d shot down is equal parts amusing and pathetic. But Ignatz sees the beauty in everything, Sylvain muses, even common game. Of course he would hate taking lives.

Sylvain wonders if there’s anything Ignatz has ever done in his life he hasn’t hated at least a little.

Despite the small detours, the two make their way through Alliance territory fairly fast, even on foot. (Sylvain had suggested they travel by horseback, but Ignatz had confessed he isn't particularly comfortable traveling on a mount for long periods of time and that it's more pleasant for him to appreciate nature while walking.) It’s strange being here during a time of relative peace, Sylvain thinks, not marching towards his potential chivalrous death with the Kingdom army. Even knowing the war is over Sylvain finds himself unable to fully relax his guard, but Ignatz is much the same, eyes darting to the side whenever the undergrowth so much as rustles. Neither of them can shake their wartime habits very easily, ingrained in them strong as animal instincts after those five grueling years.

"I haven't been home for a while," Ignatz says, staring down at his feet as they walk. The words are carefully measured, and Sylvain finds it difficult to discern any emotion at all from them.

“We’ve barely set out and you’re already taking me home to meet your parents.” Sylvain can’t help but take the opportunity to administer some light ribbing. “I have to say, Ignatz — you’re a lot bolder than I expected.”

“Oh, shush,” Ignatz says, and Sylvain chuckles. “I just promised them I’d check in after the gathering at Garreg Mach, that’s all. They wanted to, um, gauge my... progress.”

Sylvain has no right to press others for their life stories when he has no interest sharing anything about his own family, but Ignatz sounds so resigned that he can’t help but pry a little. “You don’t sound particularly happy to see them.”

Ignatz sighs. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, because they put a lot aside for me to attend the Officers Academy, but…”

“But?”

“They’re, uh, a bit difficult to talk to.” He fiddles with the bridge of his glasses; it’s exactly the sort of nervous tick one would expect a glasses-wearing individual to have, Sylvain thinks with mild amusement. “Very dedicated to being merchants. I suppose that’s admirable. But, um, it’s difficult to speak with them about anything else. Especially, ah... the arts. I mean, it’s all right if they only have interest in —”

“Ignatz.”

“Yes?”

Sylvain can’t stand listening to this mess of backtracking and justifications a moment longer. “So what you’re saying is, your parents are dreadfully dull people with no taste whatsoever.”

“Sylvain!” Ignatz is affronted. “Of course I’m not saying that! They’re my parents!”

He simply shrugs, stretching his arms languidly over his head. “Well, you may not be saying it, but I can tell that’s what you’re thinking. You do realize you’re allowed to be frustrated with your family, right?”

Ignatz’s entire posture changes at the word _ frustrated; _ his shoulders curl in on themselves and he appears even smaller than usual. “It’s really all right, Sylvain. They’re not bad people. It’s not their fault we don’t always see eye-to-eye. If anything, I'm the one who — oh, it’s nothing.””

In that moment Sylvain realizes more than ever what kind of person Ignatz is: a man who, without fail, always chooses avoidance and passivity over anger. It’s fascinating (and a bit sad) to watch him, because while Sylvain can certainly relate to avoidance, he is also no stranger to anger. It’s an emotion he lets flare up spitefully to scald those who try to get close to him for vapid reasons. In contrast, Ignatz’s anger — if he even lets himself feel it — is mild as the bland fish skewers served in the Garreg Mach dining hall on days when rations run low.

Of course, Sylvain doesn’t address it. If he asks Ignatz about his demons, he may be forced to address his own in return. “Well, we don’t have to stick around very long if you don’t want to,” he says instead. “I’ll just tell them you want to see Faerghus before it gets too unbearably frigid for outsiders, and so we have to be on our —”

“No!” Ignatz yelps, and Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “You can’t tell them we’re just traveling for the sake of it. They’ll just say I’m wasting my time doing impractical things. I know how they are.”

“But we _ are _ doing that,” Sylvain says. “What would you have me say, then?”

Ignatz goes silent for quite some time, and Sylvain has resigned himself to never getting an answer when he speaks up again. “Tell then I’m your knight.”

Sylvain blinks, scanning Ignatz’s expression for a punchline that isn’t there. “Huh?”

“It’s what they want to hear, so if they thought I was employed to you, they’d probably leave me alone. Technically — uh, I can fight, so it’s not that much of a stretch, right? Maybe you needed an escort back to your territory. We were friends at school, so you employed me. Something like that.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. The suggestion itself is logical and makes a great cover story, but — “You’d have me lie to your sweet, innocent parents who I’ve never met? I didn’t think you had it in you, Ignatz. Being friends with Claude has made you quite the schemer yourself, hmm?”

“Can you please just go along with it?” Ignatz asks, and the begging in his voice makes Sylvain smirk. “I can’t tell them I’m just traveling for the sake of it, they’ll be furious.”

He knows Ignatz is serious, but that flustered look on his face is an irresistible opportunity. “Using me for my noble title?” Sylvain pointedly inspects his fingernails. “How disappointing. And here I thought you just liked me for being me.”

“Of course I do, we’re friends!” Ignatz yelps, and he sounds so horrified that Sylvain actually feels bad for needling him. “This isn’t about your status at all, I — I’m sorry, Sylvain, I didn’t mean to —”

“Relax, it was a joke,” Sylvain cuts in quickly. “You can tell your parents whatever you want, and I’ll go along with it. Keep being my fake knight as long as you need.” A wink. “Posing as my vassal, while pursuing a prolific art career in secret, hmm? There’s something almost romantic about it, wouldn’t you say?”

Ignatz shoves his shoulder, albeit gently, but coming from him it’s still a surprising gesture. Perhaps Ignatz had gained more confidence over these past few years than he’d realized. “It’s not romantic at all — it’s quite terrifying, actually.”

“Fear and love are both caused by arousal, you know,” Sylvain says cheekily. “So either way, whether you like it or not, you’re aroused. Well? What do you have to say to that?”

“I say that’s very crude, Sylvain,” Ignatz huffs, cheeks pink. “You better keep this kind of talk to a minimum around my family.” It’s hard to take his protestations seriously when he’s pouting through a blush, and Sylvain can’t stop a grin from twitching the corners of his lips. “They’re just not very —” At this point Ignatz’s entire manner switches back from embarrassment to something more guarded. “Well, they’re my parents. Please just behave so they think me traveling with you isn’t a terrible idea.”

“Ah, yet another lie,” Sylvain teases. “Your list of scandals grows longer by the minute, Ignatz. Okay, okay — stop giving me that look, I promise I’ll _ behave, _just like you said. I know how parents can, well. Be difficult?” He doesn’t want to go into personal detail, and thankfully Ignatz doesn’t press him. “I’m just teasing you because we’re alone. I don’t want to actually endanger your freedom or anything by getting you in trouble with your family. Then I wouldn't be able to travel with you anymore, either.”

Ignatz looks thoughtful. Sometimes it’s truly difficult to tell if he’s anxious or just pensive. “Well, that’s fine,” Ignatz says just as Sylvain is about to speak up again. “I mean — the teasing doesn’t bother me when it’s just us.”

“Really?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you were the kind of guy who got embarrassed easily.”

“I am,” Ignatz admits, and he’s not making eye contact anymore. “But, um, it’s okay. Claude always teases me too, but it’s just his way of being friendly.” He smiles nervously. “Even if you stopped actively teasing me, I’d probably still get embarrassed by something or other. I wouldn’t want you to treat me any differently than you do anyone else.”

“You sure about that?” Sylvain chuckles. “Be careful what you wish for, Ignatz. You know how relentless I can be.”

Ignatz laughs too, and suddenly Sylvain is twisted up inside, because _ no, you shouldn’t want me to treat you like I treat other people. _However Ignatz sees him — it’s wrong, and far too forgiving, but — Sylvain is enjoying it, this fantasy that he’s just a harmless, charming lad, teasing his friends without a care in the world. And he’ll live in the fantasy as long as he can, though he knows at some point the illusion will shatter. He’ll do something terrible — he’s Sylvain Jose Gautier, he always does — and Ignatz will politely slip away from his side. Of course it will be polite. Ignatz is _ always _ polite.

_ Do you even realize what kind of person I am? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty bad about replying to comments on fics so just know I'm seeing and appreciating them. (And you, uh, may get a random response anywhere between immediately and several months after you post the comment. As a warning.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>Please disregard my incredibly slow and erratic uploading "schedule," okay thanks bye.</s>

When Ignatz was a child, he had practically lived at Raphael's house.  It had been a convenient arrangement for both the Victors and Kirstens: their two young sons were able to entertain one another while their parents dealt with important (and often boring) merchant business. But though their relationship may have originally been founded on their parents’ convenience, Ignatz could not have asked for a more supportive friend. Raphael is as magnanimous as he is strong, radiating warmth unabashedly. He has always encouraged Ignatz to pursue his interests — in fact, he was the first person who ever had.

There’s no reason to be nervous as he knocks on Raphael's door, Ignatz thinks — and yet he can’t help but hesitate with his fist outstretched, second-guessing himself as he always does.  _ Maybe Raphael will secretly be annoyed that you dropped in on him unannounced like this, _ the negative voice whispers in his mind,  _ but he’d never tell you that, would he? Because he’s Raphael, and he’ll put up with you no matter what you do. He'll pretend everything is fine, and he'll make time for you, but... _

“Uh, Ignatz?” Sylvain asks, and he jumps. “You gonna knock or what?”

_ Right… Sylvain’s here. _ How can he explain his irrational fears to Sylvain if he can't even explain them to himself? Best to swallow it down so Sylvain won’t worry. “Sorry, I — um, yeah, I got distracted.” Ignoring Sylvain’s raised eyebrow, he raps once on the door.

Even from outside he can hear Raphael’s heavy footsteps thundering towards them. Ignatz can’t help but smile.

The door swings open wildy.  “Ignatz?! And — hey, Sylvain too! This is a great surprise!”  Raphael wraps his arms around them both, and Ignatz finds himself suddenly sandwiched between two much broader men, crushed on both sides and barely able to breathe. Hopefully his jovial friend lets up before he passes out, Ignatz thinks hazily, though he supposes being suffocated by Raphael’s affection wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

“Raphael,” Sylvain protests, and his voice is so loud in Ignatz’s ears. “Let up a little, I think you’re killing him.”

The pressure around him slackens and Ignatz stumbles from the head rush, knocking his forehead against Sylvain’s chest before regaining his bearings. “It’s good to see you too,” Ignatz wheezes, smiling weakly at Raphael. 

“Sorry about getting carried away,” Raphael says cheerfully. “You all right there, Ignatz?”

“Y-yeah,” Ignatz manages. “Of course.” His ears are still ringing. “I hope this isn’t a bother or anything, just dropping by unannounced like this…”

Raphael waves a hand dismissively (and with a bit too much gusto; Ignatz takes a cautious step back to avoid being whacked upside the head). “You could never be a bother,” he says. “You either, Sylvain! I’m glad you guys are hanging out finally.” Before Ignatz is able to process what he means by _finally_, Raphael raises his voice even more. “Hey, I should tell Maya you’re here.”

“Your girlfriend!” Sylvain interjects with a terrible grin.

“Sylvain! She's not — sorry, Raphael.”   


Raphael just laughs, a booming sound that fills the space around him. “Maya had a big crush on Ignatz when she was little, actually! She used to draw portraits of him because she admired him so much. I’d find them in her room sometimes.”

“Really?” Sylvain nudges Ignatz with one shoulder. “Maybe she still fancies you. Wouldn’t that be lucky?”

“She’s a  _ friend, _ Sylvain,” Ignatz says, trying to keep his voice steady even as the heat rises to his cheeks. 

“Oh!” Raphael interjects loudly, and both Sylvain and Ignatz jump. “Speaking of Maya, I bet she’d love some time to catch up with you. It’s been a long time since you guys have seen each other. Did I tell you she started painting in her off time?”

“Really?” Ignatz blinks. “Um, wow, that’s really great. I bet it's lovely. I’d love to look at it... i-if she doesn’t mind, of course.”

Sylvain smacks him between the shoulder blades without much force, but the surprise is enough to make Ignatz stumble forward. “Look at you, artist extraordinaire, inspiring the youth of Fodlan. That’s something to be proud of.”

_ Proud? _ Ignatz has been working on his confidence over the years, talking himself up rather than apologizing at every turn, and yet at Sylvain’s words he retreats back into himself, unable to say anything. Not  _ oh, it’s nothing much _ , or  _ you’re right, I'm glad. _ Nothing at all.

Raphael spares him an uncomfortable silence. “Hey, Sylvain, wanna go on a run?”

Ignatz snaps his mouth shut when Raphael speaks, not realizing until then that he had been gaping at Sylvain as he struggled to formulate a response.

“Huh?” Sylvain seems equally confused now. “Uh, right now? And are you sure I’m really the best choice for a training partner? Felix and Ingrid, well — they always scold me for not taking it seriously enough.” 

“That’s fine,” Raphael says cheerfully. “They’re not here, and you don’t have to take anything seriously. I just thought it would be nice to let Ignatz and Maya talk, that’s all.” 

Ignatz nods slowly. “Yes, I think that would be nice." Catching up with Maya with Sylvain there grinning at him sounds far too stressful. "Don’t push Sylvain too hard, okay, Raphael?”

“Hey,” Sylvain protests. “I’m incredibly in shape. I’ve got at least another ten years before I start developing a beer belly.”

He chuckles. “I know, I was joking. You guys have fun catching up too, all right?” Actually, he has no idea what Sylvain and Raphael would even discuss. Perhaps they have something in common that Ignatz doesn't know about.

Everything is a bit unfocused, the words  _ something to be proud of _ still echoing through his mind. Ignatz looks between Raphael and Sylvain, his two outgoing and confident friends who he admires very much. How could he ever have _pride_ in the presence of people so much brighter than he could ever hope to be? 

* * *

Maya, like Raphael, is uncomplicated and kind. Her smile is so earnest when she shakes Sylvain’s hand that he can’t even bring himself to tease her with his typically flirtatious words, instead simply exchanging pleasantries as he offloads his backpack.

Raphael is waiting for him outside with a grin. Sylvain has barely shut the front door before Raphael takes off in the opposite direction, beckoning for Sylvain to follow. 

_ Isn’t it a little unfair to make me run when Ignatz and I have been walking for days? _ Sylvain thinks to himself, but he doesn’t mind enough to voice the complaint. He and Ignatz have been taking it slow, hiking at an even pace and stopping often to admire the view. They probably would have made it here several days earlier if they hadn’t taken so many breaks, but Sylvain likes watching Ignatz’s face light up when he sits down to sketch. It also gives him extra time to pen letters back home, to the rest of his friends in Faerghus (and sometimes to his parents if he’s feeling particularly generous). 

“I’m glad you’re traveling with Ignatz,” Raphael says between breaths. “He looks a lot happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

“That’s good,” Sylvain says, though he can’t help but feel a little awkward accepting such positivity. “I mean, I’m not doing anything special other than just keeping him company, which may not even be a benefit. It is  _ me _ we’re talking about, after all.” He means for it to come out playful, but the words fall flat, self-deprecating and dull without much humor. Sylvain doesn’t like that.

“Huh? But you’re a good guy, Sylvain,” Raphael says, and it takes an incredulous glance at Raphael's earnest expression for Sylvain to realize he’s being completely genuine.  _ Does everyone who grows up in Alliance territories wind up painfully sincere? Must be something in the air. _ “You could use a little more muscle, though.”

“I — huh?” Without thinking Sylvain glances down at his own chest. What, exactly, is he lacking?

Raphael nods, head bobbing comically as he runs. “It’s important to keep training no matter what,” he says. “Who knows when you’ll come across someone in danger stopped by some kinda roadblock, and you’ll have to lift a boulder or something to save them, right?”

“Does this happen to you often?”

“Nope,” Raphael replies cheerfully, missing the sarcasm. “But you can never be too prepared! Say, speaking of being prepared, I gotta give you some Ignatz tips.”

“Ignatz... tips?” Sylvain echoes, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah!” Raphael shouts — far,  _ far _ louder than necessary. “I’ve known him for longer, so I know how he is. Like how he forgets to eat when he’s painting, or how he’ll take the blame for things that aren’t his fault. You gotta be careful not to let him beat himself up like that.”

“What are you, his mom?” Sylvain snorts, trying not to dwell on how pathetic Raphael's description of Ignatz sounds.

“Well, he could use a little encouragement now and then,” Raphael says seriously. “I mean, he’d never admit it helps, but I think it does! Ignatz is really talented. I don’t know why he doesn’t believe it. He just thinks too much about everything.”

This is what makes Raphael so admirable, Sylvain thinks: he takes everything in stride. He doesn’t even know what it  _ means  _ to overthink. Sylvain is unfortunately more like Ignatz in that regard, though he probably does a better job of ignoring his excess thoughts (until they come back later to bite him in the ass, but that's beside the point). 

“He’s lucky to have such a good friend looking out for him,” Sylvain says after a lull, carefully excluding himself as he speaks towards the other man.

Raphael grins. “Hey, don’t count yourself out! Ignatz really seems to like you. And if he likes you, well — that’s how I know you’re a good guy, too!”

_ Ah, shit. _

Sylvain hopes someday the Goddess will forgive him for deceiving them both.

* * *

Raphael offers to host them for dinner, but Ignatz politely declines, much to his (and Maya’s) disappointment. Ignatz doesn’t want to put them out; but more than that, he doesn’t want to stay in Alliance territory longer than he must. The memories here aren’t particularly painful, but they aren’t colorful either. Even seeing Raphael and Maya, a reunion that should have made him happy, only serves to remind him about his responsibility to his own family. 

His parents won’t approve of his desire to travel even if he is pretending to be Sylvain’s knight, and he’s afraid talking to them might cause him to change his mind about the journey.

Ignatz doesn’t want his conviction to waver. Traveling with Sylvain has been… nice, comfortable even.

“We don’t have to stop by your house if you don’t want to,” Sylvain says after they say goodbye to Raphael, as though sensing the dread in Ignatz's mind. "I mean, family reunions do kinda suck. Maybe you can just send them a letter?"

Ignatz appreciates the concern, but he shakes his head. “No, I think at least owe them a visit. Just to check in.”

“Then at least show me around your hometown a little first,” Sylvain had said after a moment of looking thoughtful. “Give me the Ignatz childhood tour, and introduce me to all the single ladies in this area. Or at least the ones you know for sure are single, and _especially_ not married. I don't want to be dealing with married men on our vacation — they get extra testy when you flirt with their wives. Trust me, I would know.”

Ignatz rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t decline, though there’s not much to show. They pass the small schoolhouse he had attended as a child, and an ugly feeling twists in his gut as he remembers the way his teachers would lecture him for sketching, snatching the parchment of his hands and crumpling it as his classmates snickered. He remembers drawing in the sand behind the school when the class was let out for lunch break, always far apart from the other children. None of it is particularly worth sharing, and Ignatz decides not to pass those memories on to Sylvain, instead settling with a dismissive comment ("I went to school here as a kid,") and moving on. 

There’s a tiny cathedral in the center of town. It doesn’t hold a candle to the splendor of Garreg Mach, but Ignatz hesitates before the front door nonetheless. He can hear prayer inside, unfamiliar voices singing familiar songs. 

“Even after everything that happened with Lady Rhea and the war, people will still cling to their faith in the Goddess, huh?” Sylvain remarks. “Traditions sure are hard to break. Oh, uh — you’re religious, don’t mind me. Just thinking out loud.”

Ignatz feels his own arms slacken at his sides, his thoughts hazy as the muffled song inside the chapel reaches his ears. Sylvain’s stammered backtracking hardly registers. “We can move on,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know why his heart is so empty thinking of the church and the children praying there — this was the place that had given him a dream of something beautiful, an ideal future to live for amidst his confusion and hopelessness, back when even the smallest daydreams could get him reprimanded by parents and teachers. Standing before the Goddess he could pray for anything he wanted no matter how unrealistic, and she would hear him and listen with all her benevolence.

“Hey.” Ignatz doesn’t expect the hand on his shoulder and jumps when he feels it placed there. “I’m sorry if I upset you by being flippant. I know how much all this means to you —”

“No, I —” After interrupting Sylvain, Ignatz realizes he’s not sure what he wants to say after all. “I’m not upset. Just thinking.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s the most sincere Ignatz has ever heard him, he realizes. Sylvain’s looking at him without the characteristic Sylvain smirk, just his brow furrowed in concern, and Ignatz isn’t sure if it makes him feel better or worse. “I’m not sure,” he confesses. “I don’t even really know how I’m feeling right now.”

“It’s hard to come back to a place that’s barely changed after so much happened,” Sylvain says, surprising Ignatz with the truth of his words. “You feel like you’re a different person, but then there’s so much that’s the same that you start doubting you’ve even made progress.”

Ignatz nods slowly. “Yes, I think that’s partially it. You’re quite perceptive, Sylvain.”

Incredibly, Sylvain looks a bit embarrassed. “Nah — not really. Everyone feels that way.”

_ Not everyone articulates it like that, though. _ “I just — well, I haven’t really talked about this to anyone before…” He trails off, half hoping Sylvain will stop him, but his friend simply waits. “I just wanted to believe there was something incredible and beautiful out there,” he admits, cheeks burning with shame at the admission. “Praying to the Goddess, well… it was the only time I was able to daydream without being told off. And the thought of being a merchant like my parents was dreadfully boring. Thinking about the beauty of the Goddess was something even greater than what I could imagine from the perspective of my dull life, and I thought that was really exciting… you’re smiling, Sylvain. Does it really sound that ridiculous?”

“Ah — no, it’s not ridiculous,” Sylvain says quickly, though Ignatz isn’t fully convinced. “No, it’s just… very optimistic. It's impressive, really.”

“It’s okay if you don’t really think that,” Ignatz insists. “I’ve seen war — we both have. I think back to those days, and I wonder: if there really was a higher power out there, a benevolent Goddess, why didn’t she stop the bloodshed? Surely you’ve wondered the same.”

Sylvain nods cautiously.

“I don’t have an answer either. I probably never will.”

The words hang heavy between them. His companion says nothing, and they walk away from the church in silence.

* * *

Sylvain isn’t even sure why they’re visiting Ignatz’s family at all. Ignatz clearly doesn’t want to see them, but he’s here out of some internal obligation, a nagging guilt that binds him here despite wanting to move on. Family bonds can be deceptively difficult to escape, something Sylvain himself knows quite well. Even as he traverses Fodlan with Ignatz, skillfully dodging his own Gautier territory responsibilities, the austere disappointment of his parents remains an ever-present shadow looming at the back of his mind.

He watches Ignatz tense as the door opens, and for a moment Sylvain truly expects him to run in the opposite direction.

“Hello?” The man standing before him has entirely forgettable features. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say he looks like a direct downgrade from Ignatz, glasses and all, with tired eyes that give off the impression he’s never experienced a second of wonderment in his entire life. “Oh, Ignatz,” he says with no shift in tone when he sees the young man standing beside Sylvain. “I didn’t know you were coming home today. And with a guest, no less. You could have at least given us a warning — we’re sending out a shipment to Goneril territory in two days. This timing of yours is quite troublesome.”

“Sorry,” Ignatz says immediately. Knowing he has family this dour, Sylvain can hardly blame Ignatz’s penchant for reflexive apologies. “Um, Sylvain, this is my brother Eustace. He’s, um, going to take over the Victor Trading Company. Eustace, this is Sylvain, my — a fellow student of the Officers Academy.” It’s hardly noticeable, but Sylvain sees him swallow. “He’s from Faerghus.”

“Ah, the Kingdom.” Eustace Victor, the man who possesses no charisma whatsoever, holds out a stiff hand that Sylvain accepts and shakes briskly before letting go. “Fhirdiad lost quite a bit of its revenue during the war, did it not?”

“Uh.” For a moment, Sylvain is utterly thrown by the dispassionate query. “Well, that’s a typical result of war, isn’t it? And we have a stable king now, so that’s at least a step in the right direction. Hopefully.” Unsurprisingly, the lighthearted comment doesn’t land properly, and Ignatz’s brother remains unmoved. It’s quite awkward.

Eustace turns away, ushering them through the door with a wave of his hand. “Were you one of Ignatz’s classmates?”

It doesn’t escape Sylvain’s notice that Eustace is speaking directly to  him and ignoring his younger brother entirely. “We attended the Officers Academy together, yes,” Sylvain says, carefully culling the good-natured cheer from his tone. “Different class, but he’s my friend.”

“Mmhmm. Sylvain, was it? — how would you rate his progress? I always doubted Ignatz was an adequate candidate for knighthood.”

“Hey,” Ignatz cuts in before Sylvain can get a scathing word in edgewise. “I’m right here? Just ask me yourself.”

Eustace shakes his head. “You’ve never been very adept at self-evaluating properly,” he says, which ironically is true, Sylvain thinks — just not in the way he means it. 

“He’s a great marksman,” Sylvain cuts in as Ignatz scowls. “And good with a sword, too. Honest and brave —”

“Sylvain,” Ignatz snaps, and actual anger flashes across his face. Sylvain regards him curiously, but the expression has vanished before he has time to consider it. “Don’t bother. Just let him say what he wants.”

Eustace scoffs. “Is there not some truth to my concerns? No need to fight me in such a manner, Ignatz. I’m simply looking out for you.”

Sylvain decides he doesn’t care much for this guy. “If you have that little faith in Ignatz, perhaps you ought to duel him yourself and find out? I doubt someone holed up calculating finances their whole life could hold a candle to his swordplay, not to mention —”

“Don’t be absurd, Sylvain,” Ignatz interrupts, and Sylvain wonders why he’s resisting Sylvain’s defense so staunchly. “I’m not going to fight my brother.”

Eustace coughs, gaze flitting between the two men. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t entertain you and your friend any longer, Ignatz. I must turn in early to prepare for our parents’ return tomorrow evening. Are you certain you don’t wish to stay long enough to see them?”

“We’re only here for the night until we head out again in the morning,” Ignatz says, and Sylvain feels a light tug on his sleeve. “Send Mother and Father my regards.”

“They’ll be disappointed you left without a word,” Eustace says with a frown. “Surely you can stay until they get back from their business trip?”

“I’ll leave a note,” Ignatz says coolly. “We’re going to use the old bedroom for tonight. Anything else you need before… turning in?”

His brother shakes his head with a sigh. “Glad to see you’re in good health, Ignatz.”

Ignatz is ushering Sylvain down the hallway, but Sylvain can’t resist one last jab before stepping through the bedroom door. “He makes a great knight,” Sylvain calls behind him. “Tell your parents that when you see them.”

With a huff, Ignatz shoves him into the side room and closes the door behind them, slipping the straps of his backpack off his shoulders. “I used to share this room with my brother when we were little,” Ignatz says, lowering himself gently onto the creaking mattress, “so I could never draw in here. He’d tell my parents I was sketching, and then I’d get in trouble and they’d throw out my art.”

Sylvain laughs incredulously. “Seriously? What’s the harm with drawing? You’d think they were punishing you for actual delinquency.”

“Well, it was a big deal to them,” Ignatz says with that odd guarded expression again. “They see art as, um — a bit of a vice, I suppose. Something useless that gets in the way of practical things. I don’t think my brother even intended to stifle me. He probably thought he was doing me a favor, steering me away from frivolous pursuits.” He sighs. “I felt so out of place with them sometimes. Well, I guess I still do. But they could be so much worse, and they still care about me in their way… so it feels silly to complain about it.”

Sylvain wants to say something comforting —  _ you’re allowed to trust your own experiences, you know, _ or  _ just because they could have been worse doesn’t mean they weren’t bad  _ — but there’s no use giving Ignatz advice he doesn’t take himself. “I’m gonna say something scandalous while we’re sitting in your old room,” Sylvain says instead, leaning in to speak lowly into Ignatz’s ear, and it’s satisfying to watch him jolt with surprise at their sudden proximity. “I think you… should become an artist.”

Ignatz scowls with reddened cheeks, shuffling away from him. “Yeah, yeah.”

“What's stopping you?”

“I have to support my family,” Ignatz says. “I promised them I would, so…”

“So you're becoming a knight?” Sylvain rolls his eyes. “That can’t be the only option. Ever consider just marrying rich? Find some wealthy noblewoman who supports your art, and…”

He's testing Ignatz, he realizes sourly after the words leave his mouth. Anyone who would consider such an offer is distasteful to Sylvain; he's dealt with too much of that on the receiving end. People flock to him despite his reputation to cash in on the benefits of his noble birth and Crest. It's shallow and frankly insulting.

“Sylvain!” Ignatz yelps, scandalized, and Sylvain lets out a relieved breath. “I would never! Even if it was convenient. Marriage for convenience, is, well…” He stares at the door, fidgeting in his seat. “I guess some people would be okay with it, but… well. Who am I to judge, I guess?”

Sylvain flicks his shoulder. “Hey, stop discrediting your own feelings like that. I'm not surprised you're a romantic at heart. So who's your ideal person, Ignatz?”

“Th-that's not —”

“You can tell me,” Sylvain says, placing his chin in his hands. “Are you into quiet girls, or girls that could kick your ass a little? Maybe you have a secret wild side. I can’t really tell when it comes to you.” 

“Hey,” Ignatz says a little firmer. “Cut it out, Sylvain.”

A thrill runs up Sylvain’s spine when Ignatz talks back to him. Watching him put his foot down really is so satisfying. “All right, I’ll leave you be. But I really was just curious — I wasn’t trying to cause you to have a crisis or anything.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just —” Ignatz turns away from him to look at the wall, and from this angle Sylvain can’t even see his eyes behind the reflection of his glasses. “I’m just… tired. And kind of wishing I hadn't come here after all, to be honest. I thought maybe things would be better now, less… I don’t know.”

Sylvain softens. “No, I get it. You see yourself one way, but in the eyes of your family, you’re supposed to be a completely different person. It’s frustrating.”

"I should have listened to you, Sylvain."

"Hah — that's something I don't hear very often."

Ignatz’s shoulders droop, but he says nothing.

“I’ve got your back, okay?”

“Thanks,” Ignatz replies quietly, “but, um… please don't pick fights with my brother. I don’t think he’s the best person to try arguing with. He has his own ideas that are set in stone, and no matter what you say, I don’t think he’ll hear it.”

Sylvain places a hand on Ignatz’s shoulder. “Sounds like you know from experience, huh?”

A sigh. “I stopped trying to get through to him a while ago,” Ignatz admits. “Ah, but it’s really not all that bad, I promise. He’s just a little… well, it doesn’t matter. He’s fine. He tries in his own way, I suppose.” The justifications pour out one after the other, and Sylvain thinks it’s a bit painful to watch. “Never mind all that. Sorry for going on about it. I mean —” Ignatz corrects himself as Sylvain’s brow furrows. “Th-thanks for listening.”

“Of course,” Sylvain says, his own voice soft and strange in his own ears.

"I thought things would be different," Ignatz murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

Ignatz is still turned away from him, and Sylvain wants to shift closer, to run a hand comfortingly along Ignatz's back and promise to be there for him if he ever wishes to talk about it again. But there's no reason to trick Ignatz into thinking he's a good person.

Besides, that's a promise Sylvain isn't sure he can keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't plan to develop family OCs much in this fic. Ignatz's brother's name came from [Kay](https://twitter.com/amorekays) months ago. He'll probably never show up again. <s>Good riddance.</s>


End file.
